


ever free

by gizamalukesgrotto



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blackmail, Bondage, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dirty Talk, F/M, Glory Hole, Rape, beastiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizamalukesgrotto/pseuds/gizamalukesgrotto
Summary: “It’s one night,” she reminds herself, gingerly putting the pint glass on the rack, and taking a look at the empty bar. Her empty bar. Her little slice of heaven; rough around the edges, a bit jaded, and definitely seen its fair share of shit, but Tifa wouldn’t have it any other way.The hour before opening always feels like a calm before the storm, but her favorite kind of storm, one she can control. What awaits her outside of it is a world she hasn’t thought to indulge in for quite some time. She’s a bit rusty.She supposes one night away from it all can’t hurt...What’s the worst that could go wrong?
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Reno, Tifa Lockhart/Rude, Tifa Lockhart/Tseng, Tifa is a Free Use Hole, Tifa x Anonymous Turks
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	ever free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witchoil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchoil/gifts).



> This was a custom piece done for someone who contacted me on my [carrd](https://nethicitewrites.carrd.co/) . If you'd like me to create custom NSFW fiction for you, I am fandom and OC friendly. You can get in touch at the carrd. I take limited assignments per month!

“Come _onnnnn_ , Tif’,” Jessie says. “Just one little _teensy_ night out won’t kill you. You could use some time away from the bar. And I’m fun, I swear!”

Tifa stares down at the pint glass she was polishing. Over the distant drone of the jukebox, the glass squeaks in protest. She’s already polished it twice, and the stack in front of her, and damn it, there’s nothing left to do with her hands as Jessie bore a hole into her with her earnest gaze.

“I don’t know, Jessie,” Tifa sighs down towards the glass, because she knew if she looked into those puppy eyes it was game over. “I really need to stick it out here.”

“You stick it out here every damn day, girl. When was the last time you did anything fun?”

Tifa pauses. It bothers her that she has to think on it. She flounders. “I do fun stuff every day,” was her weak response, and even to her it sounded pathetic. Jessie wasn’t gonna let her off the hook that easy.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I…” She shuffles through her mind wildly like a man fumbling for a magic card amidst a deck of dupes. “Yesterday! Yesterday, Cloud and I, we exterminated some doomhounds over at the scrap heap.” Tifa smirks as she recalled the way the marrow cracked beneath her knuckles. Honestly, it _had_ been fun.

But Jessie isn’t impressed. Elbow on the bar, she props her chin up on her hand and stares blankly at Tifa. “Do you hear yourself speak sometimes?” Tifa’s ears pinken, but there is no one around aside from Jessie to see it. At this hour the bar was empty, shortly before opening. As for the guys, they’re who else knows where, and well, wherever that is, Jessie isn’t interested apparently. “I mean _real_ fun. Civilized fun. Not Sector 7 ‘find what you can and punch it’ fun. Which is great, don’t get me wrong, but Gaia, I’m sick of it.”

“Since when do you like _civilized_ fun?” Tifa counters, chancing a peek up at Jessie; she means no malice by it, a curl to the corner of her lips and a fond twinkle in her eye. 

“Since now. Come on, dont’cha want to get dolled up for a night? Some makeup, a pretty dress, perfume? I have some spare cash from selling purifiers lately, we can get those pretty little drinks with the umbrellas in ‘em.” Jessie smirks. “And if we wear the right dresses, we won’t have to spend a dime.”

Tifa thinks about it, really she does. It’s true, it does sound like fun, and Seventh Heaven isn’t exactly a _tiki-umbrella-in-the-drinks_ kinda place. If anyone asked for that here, they’d probably get a deuce instead. The ol’ Seventh Sector Special. 

Dresses, cocktails, glitz… dabbling in a different life for just a few hours doesn’t sound like the worst thing. She can’t exactly remember the last time she had fun like that.

She can’t exactly remember the last time anyone asked her to. 

Well... anyone who Tifa actually considers a _friend_ . She's not stupid; her countless admirers were something she had to just get used to in Sector 7. And weirdly enough, even _they_ all complete the whole “feels like home” thing about it here.

Sector 7 is home to her. Seventh Heaven is home to her. Her patrons, her regulars, the Avalanche crew occupying her well-loved barstools… it has become a familiarity that provides more comfort than Tifa realized. But beneath that comfort was an aching stagnancy that a night on the town could help shake up a bit.

Shit. Maybe Jessie has a point. 

Jessie is a nice girl. She’s from a good family, and has ambitions outside of Avalanche; she has passions and hobbies, creative aspirations, and a big heart. It isn’t all fuck-Shinra-this and fuck-Shinra-that, like it is with Barrett, or most of the other folks connected in Tifa’s weird life. It isn’t always doom and gloom, it isn’t always anger, righteous though everyone’s was. There’s more to Jessie than that.

Tifa likes Jessie. And if Jessie was tired of playing with the boys, well, Tifa can hardly blame her. There isn’t much room for female companionship in Sector Seven, and Avalanche wasn’t exactly _balanced_ in the male-to-female ratio anyway. The only other option really are the theatre girls with their clipped wings, who fell from above the plate and somehow still keep their dreams alive enough to attempt them again. 

For Tifa, well, the plate seems too high up from down here. After a while, Tifa stopped looking up. Only ahead; that was the only way to get things done. 

“Pleeeease, Tif’, I can’t have another night of beer pong and pizza and darts with the guys. And I can’t listen to Marienne rattle off her audition monologue for the seventeenth time. The only thing listening to her at this point are the cats, and god, I’m sick of their yowling too. Is it a crime to want a Girl’s Night Out?”

It’s rare to see Jessie all gnarled up like this. She usually has a spark to her edge that made her seem like she was okay with her role, her circumstance, her rough and tumble tomboy life; much like Tifa, Jessie is a girl who took the hardballs life pitched at her, and makes her damndest out of it. 

But as Tifa looks over the bar at the brunette, she sees someone different than that. She sees a girl who just, for one night, wants to get away. She smiles softly.

“I’m sure we’ve all committed worse crimes in our day.”

“So you’ll do it?!” Jessie’s excitement is nearly tangible, the way her ponytail swished in the bar light as she perked her head up.

“I have to find someone to watch the bar, Jess.”

“I’m on it! Leave it to me to find someone. Or two someones.” She beams at Tifa. “I’ll pick you up at 9.”

Tifa barely has time to say goodbye before Jessie was bounding off through the door, letting in a burst of the last dregs of sunlight sinking to the rooftops outside. 

And that was that. Tifa is left alone, with the biggest problem ahead being less of _Who will cover my shift_ and more _What the hell do I wear?_

She stares down at the tired pint glass in her hand, her calloused brass-knuckled grip encasing it, and sees only her reflection in the scratched surface. Tifa sighs. What exactly has she agreed to? It's not like she's exactly an _umbrella-in-the-cocktail_ kinda gal.

“It’s one night,” she reminds herself, gingerly putting the pint glass on the rack, and taking a look at the empty bar. _Her_ empty bar. Her little slice of heaven; rough around the edges, a bit jaded, definitely seen its fair share of shit, but Tifa wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The hour before opening always feels like a calm before the storm, but her favorite kind of storm, one she can control. What awaits her outside of it is something she hasn’t thought to indulge in for quite some time. She’s a bit rusty.

She supposes one night away can’t hurt her.

What’s the worst that could go wrong?

\---

Sector Five’s nightlife is as vibrant as Tifa remembers. Hardly thrown off by the random eco-terrorism scares permeating the wards lately, the people milling its streets savor the bliss of their own self-inflicted ignorance. It is a time and a place to turn a blind eye to the current events, and lose oneself instead in free-flowing liquor, hazy smoke and a good time.

Two hours into this Girl’s Night Out, and all of Tifa’s prior insecurities about how rusty she'd be falls to the wayside in a flurry of dancing and drinks. That nagging voice of ‘ _But how’s the bar doing? Do Biggs and Wedge really have it handled? What if a fight breaks out?’_ is numbed by her fifth glass of whatever the hell Jessie’s been ordering for them both. It's something with coconut and rum, or maybe it's coconut rum, Tifa's not sure. All she knows was that it's delicious, and her inebriated state sneaks up on her like a quiet thief, robbing her of inhibitions and making her a laughing, dancing dame in the nightclub. 

Jessie ends up being right about not needing cash to buy their own booze. When they both look like they do, well, there's a line practically longer than that outside the club just to have a shot at buying them drinks. 

Tifa’s crimson sequined bodycon dress hugs every curve of her body, and the salacious dip in the open-back of the design shows off her hard-earned shoulder muscles; not that any man there is looking at her back muscles, but she can proud of them at least. Jessie sports a tight little number, a one-shoulder mini dress in metallic green, with a chain belt that flirts with the curve of her hips. The gold shimmer of Jessie’s accessory matches Tifa’s hoop earrings, drawing attention to the slope of her neck, as revealed by her hair tossed over one shoulder. 

They are both a sight to behold. And honestly, Tifa's having a blast. The booze, the music, Jessie’s company, and the distance between Tifa and the Seventh Ward all culminates here at _The Naughty Moogle_ , some new industrial dance club that opened last week with a line around the block.

Obviously, they had no trouble getting in, and without a cover fee. 

“I swear, the bouncer looked like _he_ wanted to pay _us_ to be here,” Jessie laughs into Tifa’s ear over the music. It's close to 11 now, and the top of the hour finds the two ladies at the bar once more, waiting for their next round of drinks. 

And it's going to be quite a wait, it seems, even with their good looks. The club is packed this time of night. Tifa takes this opportunity to soak in the crowd. 

It is definitely no Seventh Heaven. Sure, her bar is fun. It's a watering hole for local nightlife; rough and tumble and greasy with an edge. This? This feels like anything but. 

The floor is spotless and checkered with neon lights humming beneath the plexiglass surface; the bar itself shimmers in chrome, with the liquor behind it accentuated by some imitation of mako flowing through tubes that gnarl around the bottles like an enticing promise. All the drinks have at least 6 ingredients, some of which Tifa has never even heard of, and they all definitely have little umbrellas in every single one. 

It's definitely the hot new spot, but there was something else that catches Tifa’s eye more than just the metallic and neon and sequin-gold shimmer. Amidst it all, there is no doubt about it: ShinRa men are definitely here.

She hadn’t thought much of it when she noticed the first time, earlier in the night. There had been just two or three then, which is par for the course in any Sector Five bar. But now, closer to midnight, there appear to be even more. Peppered throughout the lights and leather are their telltale stark suits. Three or four aren't much of an issue, but Tifa ends up counting well more than that before Jessie nudges her.

“What’re you staring at?” She grins. “See someone that caught your eye, huh?”

Tifa shakes her head. Looking past the haze of her inebriated state, she furrows her brow and leans into Jessie’s ear. “There are lots of ShinRa here.”

She notes the way Jessie’s eyes slide along the crowd; quick, catlike, assessing the venue like a subtle all-over scan. Then she turns back to Tifa.

“Sector Five is rank with these guys,” she deflects, but Tifa could tell she's not pleased by how many she sees either. “Though it seems they take a liking to this new shiny place, huh. We can beat it after this round and head to another spot. I know one that’s less trendy, but still fun. One where ShinRa won’t be sniffing around for their elite slice of nightlife.” 

“Tifa?!” A familiar voice breaks past the crowd, over the music. Tifa turns to see a face she hadn’t in a while.

“Johnny!” She exclaims. He looks good, and more importantly, alive. She hasn’t heard anything about or from him since Cloud scared him off months ago to protect the identity of Avalanche. He used to be a staple in Sector Seven. Lately, it’s been weird with him not there. Sometimes she’d lie awake and night and wonder where he went, and if he was even alive.

It’s a relief to see him.

“Holy moly, Tifa, you look--you are--you’re just--gorgeous! Incredible! Immaculate! Stunning! Oh, Tifa, I’ve missed you so much! An angel of the night, a goddess amidst the neon, you are a diamond in the rough!”

He doesn’t embrace her, but he’s close enough that he may as well. Jessie cocks a brow.

“Guess we’re just gonna pretend I’m not here, then,” she says. Johnny looks her way. No doubt has he not forgotten Jessie; the way she stole his ID card and used it to sneak inside the reactor during the first bombing. At least they’re all in a public place. 

Johnny turns to Jessie. He’s clearly drunk. “Let’s just forget about all that, okay? I’ve started over. I left Sector Seven. I’m here now, and so are you. Let’s not ruin a good night,” he says, and Jessie crosses her arms. She’s not impressed, and it’s clear as day on her face. Tifa suddenly feels the tension, and tries to deflect.

“So--Johnny, what’re you doing here? It’s so good to see you.”

“This place is rad, isn’t it? Hottest place in Sector 5, and yours truly is THE promoter!” Johnny exclaims. “I gotta mingle with all the hotties and make sure everyone’s havin’ a baller time.”

“Tough gig,” Jessie mutters. Johnny doesn’t hear her. “Anyway, we were just leaving.”

“Hey! Listen, listen, ladies. Let me give you the grand tour. I’ve got VIP lounges up there,” he says, pointing up to the glass cubes suspended high over the dancefloor. “And I’d love to get you girls a table. Free drinks, on me. Waddya say?”

He’s an excitable thing as ever, that’s for sure. And Tifa’s always had a soft spot for him; part of why she implored Cloud to not get rid of him. It’s truly nice to see him, a strange relief, and Tifa nods. She chances a peek at Jessie, who shrugs.

“We’ll stay for a bit,” Tifa says. “We had other plans.”

Johnny leads them from the dancefloor towards a set of stairs. “Whatever you have has nothing on this.”

“Just one drink,” Tifa says. Johnny nods, but she can’t see his face as he leads them up the stairs.

“That’s all you’ll need, ladies.”

They stay true to their word. One drink - it's all they have.

And it is, indeed, all they need.

\---

When Tifa’s vision comes to, all she sees is black. She tries to blink it away with more effort than she numbly realizes it should take. And then she does realize; and then it hits her like an ice pick to the bone - this isn’t right. A bolt of lightning strikes through her and she struggles, instinctively despite the blur, until the cold pinpricks of shock settle in as she finds herself bound. 

She tries to scream.

She’s gagged too. 

Her senses come back to her in a flickering staggered panic, but it’s her hearing that seems to work first.

“Well well, lookie here. Told you she’d be the first one to wake up.”

A voice she doesn’t recognize. 

“Yeah, that other Avalanche chick is still out cold.”

“Lucky for us, then.”

“You owe me 700 gil.”

A slew of voices Tifa doesn’t recognize ring in her ears. Men, all men, and it sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Yes, yes! Oh, holy shit, this couldn’t have worked out any better!”

And that's a voice she _does_ recognize, above it all.

_Johnny._

She tries to yell his name, but it’s lost in the gag. It’s a wad of something, she can’t tell, but it fills her mouth to the brim and all that comes out is a muffled scream, which ignites the chortles of her alleged captors, and sends a shiver down her spine. 

Yelling won’t work. Her hands are bound behind her back. But her legs, oh, her legs are her most powerful asset, and so she uses them. Tifa thrashes like a Grashstrike , but finds with horror that whatever mechanism she’s bound in has her ensnared around the waist, tight and cold.

“I’m afraid your efforts are in vain, pretty lady,” comes that same voice from before, the one she woke to first. There’s a smoothness about it, and it belongs unmistakably to a young man, who just as unmistakably has no good intentions. Footsteps approach her, and gingerly untie the blindfold around her eyes for her to meet her captor. 

She’s never seen this man before. He’s young, just like she thought; slim, and tall, and no doubt a man of ShinRa. Tifa’s eyes hold a fire and a plead all the same up at him, but he just grins down at her. His red hair is backlit by some blue-gelled light from a corner of the room, and Tifa looks left and right to find she’s somewhere she’s never been before. 

It looks like a basement. Plain and clandestine, grey and cement, and lit at each corner with a gelled light that casts blue, red, and yellow onto the shadowed faces around her. Tifa’s blood runs cold when she lays eyes on Jessie, who has met the same fate as her across the seemingly endless room, but has yet to realize it. Or won’t. 

She looks dead.

Jessie lies limp, unconscious in what must be the same contraption Tifa’s ensnared in; an inhumane bondage mechanism that bodes eerily similar to a guillotine lunette reshaped to accommodate the span of a human waist. She screams, again, through the gag and this time her throat breaks at the stress of it.

“Calm down, tuts. She’s not dead. Just roofied.”

Tifa whips her head to the man before her, who stares down at her with that same smirk. In his hand he holds a nightstick, which he taps into his open palm expectantly. “That’s all it is, okay sweetums? Just a little push to get you and your girlie down here for some fun. You wanna have some fun, don’t you? Here’s the deal chickie-poo, you do what we say, and we won’t do everything we do to you to your little gal pal over there.” 

Jessie’s body remains motionless, but Tifa can see the faint movement of her breath if she looks hard enough. Her world breaks when she looks back into his eyes. 

“Take out the gag,” another voice says from behind her. She can’t turn to see. “I wanna hear her scream.”

Finally, the redhead kneels down to face her. With his nightstick, he taps her cheek once, twice. “Guess the guys wanna get the show on the road, huh. You ready, baby? Better give them what they want. Let’s hear you sing.”

With a maddeningly simple motion, the man unties her gag from around her head and rips it from her mouth. 

The scream Tifa releases shakes her entire body. There are no words, only sound, and she pushes it out until she’s breathless, and inhales once more. This time, she says a name.

“Johnny!”

And a plea.

“Johnny, help, _please_ ! _Johnny_!”

By the time she’s finished, Tifa is breathless, heaving in her bindings. She heaves and thrashes, to no avail.

The redhead claps. “Damn, you’ve got some chops, babygirl. It’s a shame no one else can hear you down here but us.”

From the shadow of the room, random laughter is heard, all in low unfamiliar octaves. And through it all, Johnny’s voice lingers behind her, sickly sweet as always. 

“Oh my most beautiful Tifa, forgive me. But this is too good to pass up.”

“Wha--” Tifa tries to turn her head to see him, but she can’t. She gasps as hands that could belong to any man in this room slide up her dress, pushing it over her hips and rendering her exposed. “Johnny--Johnny please, no, what are you doing?”

Those large, wandering hands grope her ass almost immediately, teasing the hem of her thong she dug out of the back corner of her underwear drawer and dared to put on tonight. A thumb grazes under it, pulling then releasing. She can barely hear the snap of it over her rapid breathing, can barely register the sensation as shock numbs her from the inside out.

“You’re gonna need to calm down, little engine that could, or you’re gonna make yourself pass out before we even get started.”

Tifa whips her head up at the redhead. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” And punctuated for good measure by a, “Let me go!”

The nightstick in his hand props under her chin, arching her neck up painfully to meet his gaze as he stands above her like before. “I think you know exactly who we are. Which means you better play nice, or I’ll beat that pretty little face you til you have no bite left. And then I’ll beat your little Avalanche bitch too.”

She didn’t doubt him for a second. ShinRa knew exactly who they were. Which means…

“Your dear Johnny boy offered us a deal we couldn’t refuse. Hand over a sweet thing like you to ShinRa for our use, and we’ll forget all about the little mixup with his ID card we found in the Reactor bombing. Of course, ShinRa lets no honest man go unrewarded, so we let him have first dibs.”

The hands roaming her body increase until there are more men than she can count touching her from the waist down; her thighs, her feet, her ass, her waist, her calves. Tifa shudders at the unbridled disgust washing through her, but there’s nothing for her to heave. 

“First--dibs? Johnny, what’s going on?! Please! Johnny, _help me_. Let us go.” Her legs strain. She tries to kick, but they’re tied together at the ankles, and in vain do her strappy, once-pristine little heels scrape across the concrete. Tifa’s mind is racing, and once more she thrashes, only to have her lower back protest bitterly at the pressure she puts against the lunette. From behind her, Johnny’s voice sounds ragged and hungry.

“You heard the ShinRa boss man, Tifa. God, when I saw you at the bar I knew it had to be you. I couldn’t believe it. It was perfect. Oh, Tifa. It always was you. It’s always been you.”

“It’s Reno, for the fifth fuckin’ time, you dunce. You’ll meet the boss man later.” The redhead man named Reno looks down at Tifa, and smirks. “And so will you, miss thing.”

There’s no question now whose hands are his amidst the carnal kaleidoscope of violation encompassing her body. Johnny’s possessive touch roams her ass and thighs like a man at worship, from the underside of her knees up the plushness of her thighs, then to her ass where he squeezes once, twice, three times. She hears him gasp in wonder at the feeling, and then the telltale pressure of his hips right at her mound still covered by her thong. “Johnny,” Tifa implores. She doesn’t mean to cry, but the tears well hot and fresh as the cold reality drives the final nail into her fate. “Please.” 

Johnny was supposed to be her _friend_ . She’s known him for years. She’s known him since she first moved into Sector 7. Fuck, she even knew his _parents_. Tifa screws her eyes shut, and remembers that dusty day not far behind her where she implored Cloud to spare his life. 

Now, she wishes more than ever she’d let Cloud’s blade fall. 

“Finally,” Reno says. “Thought you were gonna be all tough, did you?” The nightstick finds its way under her chin again, and Tifa hiccups through the sobs that wrack her. She stares up at him, her eyes pleading, but her hair falls in front of her face. When Reno reaches out to touch it, Tifa flinches. His hands comb through the long tresses, through what little tangles he can without regard to the way it pulls at her scalp. She braces herself, but it’s a repetitive motion, and there are more pressing ministrations being performed on her body right now, such as those creepy, big hands roaming her ass and insistent, warm fingers pawing at the mound behind her thong like a dog wanting to be let back inside. 

Finally, a finger pushes. Not inside, but teasing, through the fabric of her underwear. 

“She’s wet,” comes another voice from behind, and Tifa bites her lip.

“I am n--” she stops midway to yelp as the once-forgotten fingers in her hair grip at the root and yank, til her throat is bared up to Reno.

“No backtalking.” His tone is colder now, and that nightstick in his hand is held firm like a promise. “Or I’ll put that gag back on. He says you’re wet, you’re fuckin wet, baby. Better be grateful. We didn’t bring any lube.”

A quiet click sounds behind her, followed by the low whirr of a vibrator. Her panties are pulled to the side, revealing her pussy by those same hands, or someone else’s hands, Tifa can’t tell. She flinches when the vibrator hits her clit from beneath her, pressed into the nub by a steady hand. 

“It’s a powerful little thing, isn’t it?” Reno says in front of her. “Go on, you can say it.”

Tifa says nothing through the wall of her bared teeth. Past the curtain of shock numbing her, she feels only the hands on her thighs, only the vibrator on her clit. Her whole body is as tense as a bowstring, and it trembles despite her. 

“Fine. You don’t wanna say anything, that’s okay. I’ll give something for that mouth to do.”

But instead of what she expects - a hard cock pushing at her lips - she is met with the end of his baton. It presses against her mouth, insistent and blunt.

“Suck it.”

She tries to move her head away but the baton follows her like a spotlight, pressing just hard enough against her mouth to make a point. The straight black line of it leads to the straight black line of Reno’s perfectly pressed suit, like a dark spectre. She swallows the knot in her throat.

Another click behind her, and another, and the vibrator picks up speed twofold. What was once a powerful sensation to begin with triples, and Tifa gasps. It’s enough for Reno to press the baton into her mouth, past the wall of her lips until it nearly gags her. The sound of her protests are muffled by it, and she can’t tell if the width of it nicked her gums or if it’s just the metal that tastes like blood. Slowly, deliberately, Reno fucks her face with it. In and out, in and out, in and out - a piston to which she is defenseless.

She has taken down so many ShinRa machines, often with her bare hands. To be rendered defenseless by this...

“You gonna suck on it yourself or make me do all the work, princess? Be nice to this thing, you don’t wanna know what it’ll do when you make it angry. You’re gonna please every single shaft ShinRa has tonight. Starting with this.”

Tifa takes in a sharp breath. The insistent little buzz of the vibrator held fast to her clit makes her hips jerk, and she tries to shy away from the sensation. It’s as much use as it is trying to wrest herself away from the baton fucking her face, which is to say, useless. 

“Shit, look at her hips twitch. She’s totally loving this,” another man’s voice oozes from behind her. Tifa huffs. How many fucking men are in this room? How many are watching as she’s bound, helpless and violated and gawked at? She wishes she could see all of their faces, burn their visages into her memory, and mow them down in the very machines ShinRa breeds for its own savage joy. 

Bubbling beneath the humiliation, the fear, an anger courses through her like dynamite. She doesn’t deserve this. She’s always tried to practice kindness, fairness, compassion; amidst a barren wasteland like Sector Seven, it hadn’t always been easy, but when she saw how much it meant to everyone else, to simply be _nice_ , it got easier. She ran, in the grand scheme of things, an honest business at Seventh Heaven. In her spare time she tried her damndest to make water purifiers so the people below the plate could live. If anyone in Sector Seven ever needed her help, she was there. 

So why? Why was this happening to her?

As the baton continued its leisure thrust into her mouth, Tifa’s glazed eyes strained to look over at Jessie. Out cold, still. No sign of her moving; she didn’t even stir when Tifa had screamed earlier. Her heart lurches. In some sick way, if it had to be someone - if it had to be her, or Jessie - Tifa is glad it’s her. 

She gasps sharply as another crest of pleasure surges within her body. The vibrator at her clit is almost painfully powerful, uncomfortably so. Even this exact mechanism designed for pleasure feels invasive at the hands of ShinRa. She has one of her own, a modest little bullet she uses when she remembers to. It’s nothing fancy, with a cord and a slot for a battery. When she puts it between her legs it’s a slow, gentle current that carries her to completion. This? This feels like someone grabbing her by the ear and dragging her to her orgasm; which it does, to both her horror and disgust. 

Tifa’s involuntary climax pulses through her quick and hard; she barely registers it over the sheer sensation of the vibrator on her clit. But what she does register quickly is too much, too much, too much - the power of it on her sensitive spent nub, and Tifa trembles, groans and gasps in protest around the thick shaft of the baton stretching her jaw. Her teeth rattle and scrape against the metal, sending another uncomfortable shiver down her spine as the strange sensation sears itself into her very bones.

“I think she’s cumming,” Johnny says from behind her. “That’s it, Tifa, yes, cum baby.”

She’s long past cumming though; her orgasm came and went in several long seconds, and that fucking vibrator on her clit is too damn much. She bucks and groans again, louder.

“Is that so? Did you cum without even telling us, honey?” Reno coos. She takes in a sharp breath through her nose but all she can smell is her own saliva coating the black metal of Reno’s nightstick. 

“Oh yeah, fuck yeah. Look at her wet cunt.” Another random voice sounds from the room. Tifa’s lost track at this point how many men are even here. Something finally shatters in her; the reality that she is truly beyond aid sets in as sure and deep as Reno’s nightstick fucking her face. A choked sob escapes Tifa, wracks her body more than her orgasm did, and finally, finally Reno pulls the baton from her mouth. She gasps for air, loudly, and groans.

“Take it off,” she begs. Her voice cracks over the vibrator. “Please.”

“Did you cum?” Reno asks, twirling the baton with a deft, effortless precision. Tifa hangs her head.

“Yes,” she says quietly. Reno brings the baton back to her face, and taps it twice to her cheek firmly. It leaves a wet residue on her cheek. 

“Say it louder for the audience. Say you came.”

Tifa takes in a shaky breath and squeezes her eyes shut. Her mouth curls in discomfort at the vibrator on her nub and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. It’s _so much_. “I came,” she blurts out. “I came, take it off, please.”

Reno snaps his fingers, and just like that, the vibrator stops. Tifa releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and stares at the floor.

“So it’s my turn now, yeah? That was part of the deal, right? That was totally part of the deal. I provide Tifa, I get first dibs, you cut me off the hook.” Johnny’s voice rattles through the basement and makes Tifa sick. Distantly she hears a ‘tch’ of Reno’s voice, and his fingers snap again.

She can’t see it but she hears it, the thud of something blunt to the head, a thud of a body to the floor. Johnny doesn’t speak again.

“Thank fuck,” Reno sighs. His sentiment is met with low, agreeing laughter. “Thought he’d never shut the fuck up. Anyway, boys, you know the plan. Have at her.” He looks at his watch, then down to Tifa, where he smiles. “We got all night, sugarplum.”

What follows next is a blur of horror and disgust. Unspeakable, vile acts upon her by man after man, some of whom she never even sees as they rape her over and over from behind. She tries to beg, again, for mercy. She tries demands, again, to no avail. At one point, Reno backhands her for the defiance, and before her vision even rights itself, another cock is stretching her jaw open and sliding along her helpless tongue. 

“How’s she feel?” Reno asks. He’s leaning back on a wall, looking past her at whoever is filling one of her holes - this time, it’s her ass, and the burn of it inside is enough to drive more hot, fresh tears down her face. 

“Fuckin’ amazing,” is the reply, followed quickly by a sharp, mercilessly accurate slap on her ass. She whimpers over the cock in her mouth, and Reno smirks.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin?” He asks her, as though she could answer. She’s faintly aware through the glaze of her numb shock that he’s stroking himself, his cock hard and in hand as it juts out from the open zipper of his slacks. There’s a faint glint in the light from where his hand teases and pulls, and she realizes he’s pierced. “Like what you see huh? Hope you’re ready for me, babygirl. These guys are just a warmup.”

Her sounds - whimpers, groans, and whatever else she can manage over the sound of a cock stuffed in her mouth - are lost over the sounds of the anonymous ShinRa men violating her. One after the other, her holes are filled. Multiple, at once, even. After a while, the taste in her mouth of sweat and musk blur together and everything tastes the same. She tries to shut her eyes, to tell herself that this will all be over. She tries to imagine something else, maybe the bar that night, how things are under Biggs and Wedge’s watch, or running around some scrap heap with Cloud, punching things together and feeling alive. 

But every time she tries to focus on something, anything that isn’t _this_ , she’s brought back to reality again, like a spike driving through a fragile layer of ice. She can’t will herself away from her fate, no matter how hard she wants it. Every thrust into her bound, defenseless body drives her forward and backward like a doll. The bindings of the lunette scrape against her waist, and around her, the red sequined dress hangs in ripped tatters like a crude caricature of lavish gore. Bound in the lunette, she is a forgotten dream of a girl who should have stayed in her place, and now she doesn’t even know if she’ll make it out of here alive.

At the very least, hopefully Jessie will. Whatever potent drug they gave them both has ensnared Jessie’s mind and body; she lies motionless still, slumped in the lunette’s oval like a marionette with severed strings. Tifa tries to anchor herself in the sight of Jessie, safe and untouched by these men; it is a small comfort amidst the marathon of cruelty performed on every inch of her.

But these men do not give Tifa any time for comfort. If there’s ever a moment where she isn’t whimpering in protest, Reno makes sure something is done about it.

“Pick up the pace back there. She’s losing focus, and we need her nice and present,” he barks. The man fucking her ass gives it another hard, hot slap and it surges through her like firaga. He fucks into her harder, faster, until Tifa feels like nothing but a fuck sleeve, dicked into like a piston powered by savage joy. She can’t help it, and gags around the cock in her mouth, her jaw trembling.

“Shit,” the man fucking her face curses. “Cunt bitch bit me.”

He pulls out of her mouth and Tifa chokes, saliva and pre-cum drooling from her mouth in viscous strings. She heaves, desperate for air. 

Then a sharp, hot pain singes her face in the aftermath of a slap that sends her reeling. Stars pepper her vision and she chokes, still lurching back and forth at the force of the man fucking her ass. Her hair sweeps the concrete as her hung head bobs, fucked from the back like an animal on display.

“Sucks for you,” says the man behind her. “Her asshole feels great. Avalanche pussy is the best. Ah, fuck, fuuuuck yeah,” the man’s voice reaches a low, lecherous purr as cums, deep inside. Finally, _finally_ the friction stops, and Tifa slouches, head bent towards the floor.

When he pulls out, Tifa grimaces. She feels their slickness in every hole; they cum in her mouth, her pussy, her ass until she’s dripping onto the concrete all the seeds of ShinRa’s men. Her ass burns, more than anything, more than any pain or nightmarish sensation. Another sob bubbles through her tired body.

“How ya feelin, champ? Buck up.”

Reno’s voice is still an even purr, cool and hard and smooth as the concrete trapping her in this hell. Impenetrable. 

The baton finds its way under her hung head and lifts her gaze to meet his pierced cock, where he teases her mouth with it. Tifa has little left in her at this late hour, in this state, and lets his head nuzzle at her lips; the most gentle ministration performed on her thus far. 

“Bite me,” he dares. “And see what happens.”

The man she was previously sucking off spits on her, and it lands in a wad on her browbone. Reno doesn’t wipe it off, but instead smears it over her face with his cock. “This is what you Avalanche bitches get. Not so noble now, are you? Self righteous little whores. All of you.”

From behind her, another cock slides in her ass; the man from before who just spat on her. He fucks her with abandon, a firm grip on her hips as though she could possibly run anywhere. She lets it happen, because what else can she do? It’s just a few thrusts til he’s cumming too, and she feels utterly disgusting, pumped with seed and dripping it from every hole. 

Reno’s cock leisurely maps the contours of her face as Tifa takes this chance to breathe. “Please let me go,” she begs now, will beg again. “Let us both go.”

“Can’t do that, sugarplum. What lesson would that teach you?” His cock taps her cheek scoldingly once, twice, before he grips her jaw and pries her mouth open. “Stick out your tongue.”

Tifa does. Reno sits the head of his cock on it, and strokes it slowly as he speaks. “Consider this a long, thorough lesson to your little self-righteous cause. Your efforts are pointless. Your purpose is pointless. You, my sweet little thing, are pointless.” With each sentence, he thrusts, testing her gag reflex, gliding along the length of her tongue til it reaches the back of her throat, and pulling back out once more. She can feel the stud along her tongue as he violates her mouth leisurely.

For a few stretched moments, it’s all that’s inside her, and she hates herself for being grateful for it. He seems to be the ringleader of whatever horrorfest this is; when he’s in the spotlight, no one else moves. Maybe if she’s good for him, he’ll let her rest for a bit, just like this, with his cock on her tongue. 

She’s still for him as he tests her. She tries to be good. She tries to envision what he wants, and she tries to give it to him. It is the most twisted reprieve she has ever had, but amidst the atrocities committed on her tonight, she falls into it like rain.

“Atta girl. They fucked all the fight out of you for me, huh. Good. Lick it.”

Tifa does, immediately. She licks the underside of his shaft, the tip of her tongue teasing the stud. Closing her eyes, she tries to imagine it’s someone else, another man’s cock, another circumstance. Tries to imagine how much she typically enjoys this, tries to ignore how she doesn’t think she ever could again. Obediently she licks a long, thorough stripe under his shaft when he holds it up straight for her; he doesn’t even have to ask. And when he steps forward to press his balls to her mouth, she kneads with her lips and tongue, no teeth, all slickness at the soft flesh. 

A low hum is her reward as she thoroughly works his balls and cock with her mouth. It is the first time the entire night she’s done any of this on her own volition, and it makes her sick to know that at the first chance she has at her own choice, it is this. She closes her eyes and imagines her reflection shattered into pieces that she can’t begin to rebuild. Amidst the debris of her identity scattered before her, all she can do is survive. And if it means sucking off a Turk, then fuck, fine, she’ll suck him off.

The room is quiet as the rest of the men watch Reno dominate her. From behind, she can still feel her pussy and ass gushing cum every now and again, involuntary and lewd. 

“Look at her, leaking all that cum,” a man says. “Looks like a bitch in heat.”

Tifa tries to ignore them. She tries to just focus on Reno, on his cock, and on the idea that maybe if she makes him cum, this would end. 

“Would you look at that,” Reno commends. “Sucking it all on your own for me.”

It isn’t until he says it out loud that Tifa even realizes she’s doing it, and in earnest. She screws her eyes shut. Maybe if she sucked him off enough he’d shut the hell up. Tifa tries to remember what made her so good at this; she hollows in her cheeks, makes love to the shaft with her tongue, suckles on the head, and repeats it in a flurry of movement. Reno moans, carding his hands through her hair damp with sweat and cum. When Reno moans, low and quiet, Tifa works harder. He hasn’t hit her again yet. The baton lingers next to her face, in his free hand that isn’t gripping her hair. 

“Shit, there she is. That’s a sweet girl. You like the taste of Turk cock, huh?” he preens. Tifa closes her eyes, but Reno keeps talking. “Rude, you gonna stand there or join in? Hand off the phone to someone else, they can record.”

A jolt of horror sparks in Tifa’s mind. She freezes, suddenly, and Reno doesn’t miss it. “Oh, yeah. We’ve been recording this whole time. Surprise! You’re on candid camera, baby.”

Tifa’s stomach turns. A sickening anchor drops deeper than she knew it could go. She thought it had hit rock bottom, but somehow, it sinks further in this endless ocean of terror. Reno fucks into her face one, two more times, before sliding out. Tifa gasps.

“No,” she begs. “Please.” To know others would see her like this...to know anyone could watch her...

Reno only laughs, his hard cock still level with her face. He props the baton up on his shoulder and cocks his head down at her, gripping her hair by the roots til she meets his eyes. “A pretty thing like you doesn’t wanna show off how good of a little whore bitch she can be? I don’t believe that for a second.” His voice is sickly smooth, and his cock twitches, briefly belying his smooth demeanor. He’s aroused to hell and back. She can tell he still wants her, just as well as she can tell he will have her, however he wants.

“We’ve been livestreaming this to our head honcho since the beginning,” Reno states with a quiet glee. “He wanted to see if you were worth the ride over. Good news, champ, you won his favor. He’s on his way now. While we wait for him, though, why don’t you give my cock a spin with that messy pussy of yours. And Rude?” Reno pauses, to look behind her. He cocks his head her way. “Take a load off. Or put a load in. She’s got a good mouth on her.”

A quiet, low hum in reply is heard in the background somewhere. 

Reno’s hand around her hair tightens, impossibly tight, and wrings out a keen of pain from Tifa. Suddenly Reno’s bent down to her once more, face level, and when he speaks next, he speaks through his grit teeth in a tone that makes her blood run cold. “Try anything funny with my colleague here and I’ll broadcast your pathetic fuck marathon onto every screen in Midgar faster than you can say _Kupo_. Got it, bitch?”

Tifa’s jaw trembles. “Yes,” she manages. “I understand.” Anything to relinquish his grip on her hair; she feels as though he would tear it out of her scalp.

When he releases her, she slumps, quiet and wrung dry of her tears. The sob that wracks her next is hollow and raw. 

Reno stands and moves behind her. Another man takes his place, and Tifa can’t bear to look at him, but she forces herself to, just to burn these men’s faces into her memory. He’s tall, slender, without a strand of hair on his head; but still young, strangely beautiful. Authoritative. When she reaches his face she sees cold, unreadable eyes, and he stares back down at her, a faint disinterest there. He looks past her, presumably at Reno.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” Reno responds.

Tifa shouts at what happens next; a long, thick intrusion in her ass, slow and deliberate and unending. The baton, filling and stretching her completely until it’s so deep she feels like she could vomit. It’s cold, and she barely has time to register it before Reno’s cock slides into her pussy shortly after, filling her completely. Tifa tries to cry out, but the sound is lost as Rude’s thick cock plugs her mouth to the root. She tenses and coils, short-circuiting amidst the intrusions of every hole she has. 

Then they begin moving, and she nearly passes out. 

“Damn. Barely any fuckin’ friction in here with all these cocks you’ve been taking. Hey, Markus, you getting this on camera, right?”

“Oh yeah,” a man replies, but Tifa barely hears him over the ringing in her ears. Everything feels so full. So, so full; she thinks she may burst. As Reno fucks into her, he moves the baton with his thrusts, pushing her back and forth into Rude’s waiting, thick shaft.

Rude’s cock is huge. It’s the biggest she’s seen all night, and her jaw strains at the stretch. Unlike the men before him, he does not touch her. He does not speak. He moves in time with Reno, fucking her with a rhythmic precision that makes her lose all sense of time, space, reality, and self. 

“Feel good, Rude?” Reno pants as he fucks into her. His thrusts lack composure; staccato and excitable, like he’s been waiting all night to delve into her pussy and can’t decide how he wants to fuck her yet. Hard and fast, hard and slow, slow and deep, he does it all as Rude steadily pushes his cock down her throat and back.

“She’s obedient enough. Not an ounce of fight left in her.”

“I wanted to wear her down for you. You needed an outlet lately.” There’s some twisted tenderness in Reno’s tone that resonates in Tifa as the men speak casually over her raped body. Reno moans again, and slaps her ass while driving the baton deeper into it. “Fuck, yeah, you like that huh babygirl. That fat pussy is stretched to hell and back but I still feel it flutter. Hey Markus, get over here, get a closeup of this pussy, huh?”

Tifa can’t answer. She closes her eyes and feels every inch of these men violating her, and Reno was right - there isn’t an ounce of fight left in her. Her body is done with its convulsive tensing, done with trying to push everything in her out, out, out. All she can do is exist in this seventh circle of hell she fell into, until all that’s left to feel is the hot slide of cock in every precious part of her. 

When Reno pulls out, he runs his fingers up and down her entrance. “Zoom in, right there. Yeah, get that cum dribbling out. Fuck, that is nasty. How many dicks has she even taken tonight? At least ten.” She feels his cock slap against her mound, the wet sound of his cockhead grazing the cum of other Turks that spent their loads in her. Tifa’s pussy twitches, and another glob dribbles out of her. 

“Holy fuck, yeah, there it is.” Reno runs his finger back up her pussy and pushes them inside. “Don’t waste a drop. Gaia knows this is the best shit to ever be in that useless cunt. 100% Turk spunk, baby. You’re gonna wanna keep this as a souvenir.”

There’s _so much cum_. How is there so much? Will she ever get it all out of her? If she lives to see another day, she cannot imagine one where another sliver of Turk seed doesn’t dribble out of her hole, to remind her, always, of this.

Reno slides back in, and falls back in time with Rude. 

His slim hips slap against Tifa’s thick ass repeatedly, until nothing is heard in the room except the sound of their sex. His breathing goes ragged, and she feels him pick up the pace in earnest. He’s so deep, driving further and further into her until his head kisses her cervix and his balls graze her cunt’s lips. “Rude,” he pants, clearly close. “You gonna cum soon?”

The cock in her mouth picks up the pace, in time with Reno, and Tifa feels like a corpse. “Getting close, yeah.”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do this,” Reno says. Together, both men increase their pace.

She feels Rude cum, ejaculating deep down into her throat and filling her belly with his seed. She hears Reno cum, deep, smug moans oozing from his throat like poisoned honey until finally his thrusts slow.

Neither of them move when they’re done. They catch their breath, and Tifa can do nothing but wait. Finally, when they slide out, they do it in unison, and Tifa didn’t know she was capable of making the sounds she does when she gasps for air. There is nothing she can do but breathe, staring at the floor as sweat drips down her face, and cum drips down her thighs.

“Reno,” a voice says distantly over the ringing in her ears. “Tseng is here.”

Reno pulls the baton from her ass like an afterthought. “Perfect timing. Send him in.”

“Please,” Tifa begs, but the word sounds tired on her lips, like a prayer that died on a believer who lost faith long ago. “Please stop.”

“Shut up.” Reno says, smacking her ass with the baton. “And look sharp.”

She hears the sounds of zippers being done up, of belts being buckled. Rude moves away from her to the rest of the men all gathered, and all Tifa can do is stare at the floor, or the wall, or Jessie’s limp body. She finds she can do none of it, and closes her eyes.

From behind her, a door slides open. She cannot imagine how she looks, bound like this, used like this, on display like this. One of her heels is broken, the other tossed to the side. Her breasts hang low to the ground, and she can feel an endless gushing of cum from her ass and cunt. She images how she must look upon first sight to the leader of the Turks, and if she weren’t so broken, she would care. 

There is silence in this concrete hell. A hush falls over the room. She hears a door slide open, and single sound is enough to jolt her to attention:

The telltale jingle of a dog collar. The pull of a leather leash. The sound of panting.

A voice.

“You kept her conscious for me.” It’s a question, but there’s no real inflection to it. It sounds like a statement, if anything, low and even.

“She’s rearin’ to go. We broke her in a bit for you,” Reno says. “You want this recorded, boss?”

“No,” is the reply. “What I saw on the way here was enough. I’d like to try her myself.”

“Roger that.”

“She is Avalanche, then?”

“Yep. She and her little girlie over there, but this one occupied us enough.”

“Her name?”

There’s a quiet across the room. 

“Uh,” Reno says after a while. “I forgot. Starts with a T.”

She tries to listen, but amidst it all, the jingle of the dog collar is all she can focus on. Whatever it is, it sounds big. And it’s coming.

From behind her, footsteps in time with the telltale sound of dog claws against concrete approach. Tifa tenses, braces herself. She hears the sound of leather drop to the floor, a jingle of the collar again rushing towards her.

And then a cold, wet dog nose is on her pussy and asshole. Tifa gasps at the intrusion. She can’t see it, but fuck, it’s a _fucking dog_ , burying its face into her cunt and lapping with a wide, thick, hot tongue. She tries to buck her hips away, but it is futile. Whatever it is, dog or demon, it’s huge. She shouts, tensing in fear as teeth graze her ass cheek. The sounds are vile, and the men around her laugh. Above it all, she hears the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps rounding to the front of her, and she doesn’t know where she wills the power, but she looks up at the face of the Turk leader.

He’s just as clean cut as the rest of the men; standard for ShinRa, but with long, straight, manicured hair and a sharply angled face. He looks timeless. If she thought Rude was hard to read, this one gives him a run for his money. The man who must be called Tseng stares down at her, and tilts his head.

“What is your name?” he asks. The dog continues to eat the cum from her cunt, lapping at her clit with a warm, insistent tongue every now and again. It is horrible to realize, but it feels good, and it is the first ounce of pleasure she’s felt all night. Tifa hiccups.

“Tifa,” she says over the sound of the cur’s mouth on her asshole. 

“Have my men done their part in teaching you a lesson tonight?”

A jingle of the collar startles her, and the dog’s nose presses into her folds, curious and hungry. “Yes,” she responds, too quickly, too eagerly. “Please, let me go. I’ll leave Avalanche, we’ll both leave it, we’ll--” she pauses, and hangs her head. “What do you want?” she finally asks.

The room is quiet. Tseng stands before her. His shoes are immaculately polished, a sharp wing-tip tapering out the end of them. She drips her sweat onto the leather, helpless.

“I want you to send a message,” is the simple reply she gets. He unzips his trousers, and slowly strokes himself into hardness as his dog continues to lap at her holes. “Avalanche meddles. ShinRa is a well-oiled machine. We do not have time for such trivialities below the plate, when we look above and beyond. We look ahead. And Avalanche only looks behind. Whatever self-made Eden you seek, abandon it. There is no room for it left on Gaia.”

He snaps his fingers, and someone approaches from behind to lead the dog away. One last lick, a hot, even stripe up her folds, and then it is only Tseng before her. 

“You are dismissed,” he says to the room. His voice does not leave a chance for argument. Slowly, the sound of footsteps shuffle out of the room. The dog goes with them. The door slides shut.

And it is only them.

Tifa has nothing left. She doesn’t move, only listens to his cold, even voice as he moves to position himself at her cunt. 

“You represent something tonight, Tifa,” he says her name, and when he does, she flinches. They have her name, they have her body, they have her friend. They have everything. And yet, they want more. How very like ShinRa.

She feels his cold hand run the length of her damp skin, as though inspecting her like the debris in a fatal car crash, searching for anything left to salvage. There is nothing. “Your used, filthy body, filled with the seed of ShinRa and its Turks, will carry with it the message that Avalanche falls. You alone will carry our light back to your comrades. You alone will tell them of what you’ve done. You alone will pave ShinRa a future free of pests. Carry this torch, and run, and tell.” 

When he slides into her, he feels like every other cock that’s violated her cunt since this nightmare started, but his thrusts are punctured further by his words. Tifa breaks. Sobs that she thought she had none left to give pour forth as Tseng fucks her from behind, not a hand on her, so the only thing she feels is every inch of his cock. 

It lasts forever, it seems. The sounds are debauched, lewd, as his dick plunges the wet walls of her soaked cunt claimed by every seed ShinRa’s Turks have. He takes his time with her. He is quiet. He does not moan, he does not speak. He fucks, and fucks, and fucks, until all Tifa can ever remember is the feeling of his cock inside of her, and his cock alone. It sears more than any other vile thing that’s intruded her tonight. Amidst all the horrors she’s endured in this room, this one feels the most devastating. 

Bound and bent, defenseless and on display for the use of ShinRa’s most prized men, Tifa weeps for a life she will never have again. When Tseng cums, Tifa can barely even tell. Only once he pulls out and wipes his cock on her ass cheek, does she ask with a voice that doesn’t sound like hers,

“Will you let us go? Please, let us go.”

Tseng stands before Tifa one last time, and takes a long look at her. She looks back, imploring, broken, and desperate.

“Tifa,” Tseng says her name as though he knows her, as though he were a steady figure of authority throughout her life; if he wasn’t then, he is now, for she will never forget his face. “The mistake you made was thinking you were ever free.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a custom piece done for someone who contacted me on my [carrd](https://nethicitewrites.carrd.co/) . If you'd like me to create custom NSFW fiction for you, I am fandom and OC friendly. You can get in touch at the carrd. I take limited assignments per month!


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